True Love Will See Us Through
by Sable Supernova
Summary: The course of true love never does run smooth, but often love is all that's needed to see it through. A collection of drabbles and one-shots about established relationships - no break-ups or first dates here, only sweet, fluffy love!
1. RitaGilderoy: Addiction

Written for the May Event at Hogwarts, for the prompt: addiction.

Words: 116

* * *

 **Addiction**

"Have you heard the news about Cadogan Cleary? Worrying, isn't it?" Rita asked, turning to her lover. The little-known explorer had been incapacitated in St Mungo's for years, but had recently begun showing signs of improvement.

"Who's he? Don't know what you're talking about," Gilderoy replied, quick to defend and deflect.

"Gil, you're doing it again," she said, her voice high with a hint of annoyance, referencing his now automatic response to tell treacherous lies. It had really started to grate on her these past few weeks, and she found herself wondering if she could trust a word he said.

"Sorry, it's a habit," he replied with a sheepish grin.

"More like an addiction," she argued.


	2. DominiqueRose: Wrong

Written for the Weekly Elimination Weird Prompt Thing, for the femslash pairing.  
Dominique/Rose  
Words: 281

* * *

 **Wrong**

Dominique stroked the long red hair of her lover with a smile. Nothing had ever felt so right.

Her family didn't understand. She'd inherited her mother's Veela looks, but not her charm with the men. But that was alright by Dominique. She didn't want it.

She was only eleven when she knew she was different, watching the skirt of a certain Ravenclaw in the library as she tried to reach the top shelf. As the skirt hitched higher up the back of the girl's thighs, Dominique wanted to see more.

Her mother didn't understand and said it was just a phase. Her father preferred to pretend it wasn't even a thing. Victoire told her she'd find a man one day. Rose… Rose told her she was perfect.

-o0o-

Rose felt her lover's hand as it fondly caressed her auburn locks and smiled. Everything felt right, somehow.

It hadn't always felt right. It didn't feel right around her father and his pointed remarks, or her mother's pitying, false tones. She remembered the names she'd been called at school when her classmates found out as if they were a part of her very identity. She remembered her brother's reaction: his confusion, his repulsion.

Rose only knew how to be herself - that was all she'd been taught as a child. She wondered if her parents thought now that they'd taught the wrong lesson. She wondered if what they'd meant was that she could be herself, so long as she fit within the boundaries, within the lines of the box they'd drawn around her.

She didn't fit into any boxes, she never had. Dominique was the only one who didn't seem to mind at all.


	3. Drarry: Broken

Written for the Speed Drabble competition over at Hogwarts.

Prompts:

"glide" "It should have been me" and Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy.

Words: 334

* * *

 **Broken**

Harry stood in his office, unmoving. He didn't know what to think, what to say. Their last mission had been a disaster. Harry and Draco, the two brightest and bravest young Aurors, had been sent on what should have been an easy mission. They should have gone out in the morning, done their job and been back laughing by lunch time. Instead, Harry had returned to the office alone. Draco had been sent straight to St Mungo's when the Head Auror had arrived. Harry's call for help had reached him just a moment too late.

Harry had thought he'd always be the Number One target for the old Death Eaters, as the Boy Who Lived, but he'd been wrong. It seemed betrayal stung more to them than fate.

"Harry, you can go now. He's done with the enquiries," the intern told him. Harry hadn't even heard him come in. He nodded and left the room, heading straight for the Floo system on autopilot. One word repeated over and over in his mind, blocking all other thoughts: Draco. Draco. Draco. His friend, his old enemy, his lover and his competitor. His everything, lying in a hospital bed, with no certainty that he would make it through the night.

He glided through the Ministry, not even knowing if his progress was slow or fast. He didn't see anyone, just masses on the edge of his vision.

After an age, he arrived at Draco's bedside. His platinum hair was cursed through with a violent red, his face swollen and bloody as he lay in a deep sleep. Harry didn't want to know what the rest of him looked like. As tears blurred his vision, he took up the broken hand that lay limp on the bed sheets and heard a strange, guttural sound emit from his own thoughts.

He spoke, his voice coming out as little more than a hoarse whisper.

"It should have been me."


	4. NevilleGinny: A Lick Of Paint

Written for the Speed Drabble thing over at Hogwarts, for the prompts: Ginny/Neville, "Wait just a second" and "paint."

* * *

 **It Only Needed A Lick Of Paint**

Ginny looked around their new home with an unnerving sense of dread. They were only young, sure, but she was training to be an Auror and Neville had just scored a teacher's salary. She'd been certain they'd be able to afford something more than... this.

The wallpaper was peeling at the corners, the carpets threadbare and worn. Dust covered the units in the kitchen, and the whole place was filled with a stale air, as if no one had even dare enter for decades.

She felt deflated, completely, and as hopelessness caught up with her, she looked over at Neville.

He sighed, feeling her misery as surely as he felt his own. This was not what they wanted. He began to wonder around the room, thinking, as if there was something that could be done about it all.

"It's useless, Neville," she told him, her voice hard.

"Wait just a second," he said, walking out of the room with his eyebrows drawn together in thought.

Ginny said nothing as she felt a headache begin behind her eyes.

When he walked back into the room, Ginny stared at the item in his hand with incredulousness.

"Paint?"

"Paint," he nodded, setting it down in the middle of the room.

With a quick spell, he made short work of removing the ageing paper from the walls, grinning as he balled it all up by the door.

"Ginny, do you remember when you first told me you thought I was beautiful?" he asked her.

"Yeah," she said, drawing the word out.

"After I got over the initial dint to my ego, I realised you'd taught me something. Anything can be beautiful, if you look at it the right way." As he finished speaking, he held out a paintbrush to her.

Holding back a laugh, she rolled her eyes and took it from him with a smile, thinking back to the first thing she had told him when they'd begun to look for a house.

"I don't care where we live so long as it's with you."


	5. XenoPandora: Pandora

Gaspard Shingleton: (b. 1959) was the wizard inventor who first devised the Self-Stirring Cauldron.  
Challenge: Someone is creating a potion in your story, using a self stirring cauldron.

Words: 228

* * *

 **Pandora**

"Two stirs clockwise, three counter-clockwise," the young woman read aloud from her notebook, instructing the Self-Stirring Cauldron. She leaned forward and chanced a sniff of the rising steam, considering it for a moment before frowning. "More Asphodel Root," she muttered to herself before turning to the kitchen cupboards.

He watched her with youthful glee, his eyes kind and full of wonder, from a chair against the far wall. "What is it today, dear?" he asked with a smile.

"A gap in the market!" she announced, turning to face him so she could place the ingredient on the chopping board. "A fertility potion. Hopefully. Women can take it daily to help them conceive," she told him, distinctly not looking at him.

His smile faded a little as he stood and walked over to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Pandora, it will happen, you know. We're doing all that we can," he told her softly.

"But what if we're not?" she asked him imploringly. "What if I can do something more? What if this works?"

"What if it doesn't?" he countered.

She looked to the floor, ashamed. They both knew the words she couldn't bring herself to say.

But it wasn't her nature to back down. "I have to try, Xeno," she said, as if begging him. She wasn't sure if she was after forgiveness or permission.


	6. Tedromeda: Easy

**Written for the Ultimate Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:**  
 **Maximilian Crowdy:** was Minister for Magic from 1770 to 1781, elected by the British and Irish Wizarding population at least twice. A father of nine, Crowdy was a charismatic leader who routed out several extremist pure-blood groups planning Muggle attacks. His mysterious death in office has been the subject of numerous books and conspiracy theories.  
 **Challenge:** Write a non-canon Pureblood/Muggleborn (romantic pairing) story.  
 **BONUS!** Earn an extra 2 Knuts for writing about anything other than Dramione

 **Also written for the Taylor Swift Challenge, for The Way I Love You.**

 **Words:** 338

* * *

 **Easy**

Andromeda was never supposed to fall in love. Girls like her didn't do that. They weren't raised for it; it was never promised them.

It wasn't that she didn't know love. Of course she did, to some extent. She knew the cuddles her mother shared with her when she was sick; she saw the affection in her father's eye when she performed well at something.

But love between a man and a woman grew over time, with patience, after the wedding day.

People like Andy were not supposed to fall head first in to love like it was a chocolate bath. They were not supposed to want to kiss in the rain or dance to the sound of silence.

Andy hadn't wanted any of those things.

Until Ted.

For a while, Andy felt like she was living two lives. There was one in which she was a dutiful daughter, stiff-backed with a sweet smile at dinner parties in summer. In the other, she laughed, running through the snow in a lose dress and no overcoat.

Her betrothed was a Lestrange. Rich, arrogant, devoid of emotion. He was fine, of course. Witch Weekly dubbed him perfect boyfriend material. He was chivalrous, never late and never raised his voice. He was nice.

If Witch Weekly ever wrote about Ted, they would say he was a terrible boyfriend. He was forgetful and clumsy; passionate enough to shout as loudly as he laughed; and his timekeeping left a lot to be desired.

And yet, when Andy laughed at Ted's jokes, she didn't need to hold it back to appear polite; she never needed to fake it. When Andy told Ted of her hopes and dreams, she didn't need to consider if they were appropriate enough to tell him: he listened to all of them with a smile in place of judgement.

When Andy made a choice to change her own life, the consequences nearly broke her. She lost everything she'd ever known in many ways. But the decision itself? That was easy.


	7. Flamels: The Woman In The Witch

**Written for:**  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Amrose Swott - Write about immortality.  
 **Gringotts Prompt Bank:** Period piece, Cantis - Causes the target to burst into song, Spilsby, The Woman in the Witch, "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." - Robert Frost  
 **Words:** 611

* * *

 **The Woman In The Witch**

In the rolling hills outside of Carcassonne, Nicholas and Perenelle made their home. They'd lived in Toulouse for most if their lives, but the city was lively and vibrant, and at five hundred and fifty, Perenelle decided she was too old for the pace of life.

Their family had stopped visiting a long time ago. The communal memory of family and duty had been forgotten three generations ago. They were strangers now. That was the thing about immortality.

But just yesterday, Nicholas had learned that his wife preferred pink rhododendrons over blue ones. He hadn't known she had a preference. He thought he knew her well when he'd married her. He'd since learned he was still getting to know the woman in the witch.

She was sat beside him in the garden as they sipped red wine and read their books. Perenelle was reading a recent British novel, something by a Jane, while Nicholas worked his way through an Ann Radcliffe. All of a sudden, she turned her wand on him, whispering "Cantis."

As he burst in to song - an old French tune - he couldn't help but smile through his annoyance. His wife's laughter was a glorious sound, and he knew she loved to hear him sing. At least she hadn't lost her _joie de vivre_.

It was 1834 when the Flamels moved to England, to an old farm house in Spilsby. It was an iddylic village, if you didn't look too closely. But the Flamels did look closely, and they saw the suffering. The new Poor Law was one of the reasons the couple decided to move. It did a lot to help the impoverished, but Nicholas thought it didn't do enough. It put the responsibility of the poor in the hands of the churches and communities. But the church in Splisby had no rich donors. It had hard-working people who couldn't make ends meet. Until the Flamels moved in.

Nicholas dealt with the business side of things. He set up a regular donation to the church to fund homes for the orphans and alms for the families. He helped the farmers get better prices so they could keep enough of what they grew to feed the village folk. Perenelle did what she was best at and helped the people. She offered medical assistance, through her knowledge of herbology and alchemy, and lent a hand where she could. She washed clothes, darned socks, listened to problems.

A young girl, seventeen, caught Perenelle's heart. The girl's father had died and her mother was too ill to work, so it fell on her shoulders to do everything - play mother to her younger siblings, bring in whatever money she could and keep up with the housework. She worked tirelessly, and soon Perenelle was visiting her every day with fresh meat and vegetables for dinner.

After a few weeks, she implored her husband to join them for dinner, and he did so willingly. Once the younger children were in bed, Perenelle convinced the girl to sit down with them for a few moments and relax. They'd brought a bottle of French wine with them and poured out glasses for them all.

She talked of her life, and tugged at the Flamels heart strings. They asked the girl what they could do for her.

"In three words, I can sum up everything I've learned about life," the girl told them in response. "it goes on. So, thank you for your kind offer, but we'll be okay."

Nicholas thought about all he knew about life, all he'd seen, and decided the girl had learned a wise lesson young. He'd sum it up the same way, too.


	8. Jily: Goldfish

Written for **Chocolate Frog Challenge** , for Gulliver Pokeby: Write about, or include, a pet in your story.  
Also written for **School of Prompts:** Godric's Hollow.  
 **Words:** 273

* * *

 **Goldfish**

"We should get a dog," James said with a smile over breakfast, looking at his wife.

"We have Sirius," she replied, and James nodded his head to the side with raised eyebrows that suggested she had a point.

"Okay, not a dog, but we should get a pet," James said.

"Why?" Lily asked, incredulous. They'd only just had a baby, life seemed stressful enough as it was without another life to consider.

"Because they're great stress relievers! And walking a dog gets you outdoors, and I don't know, it just completes our little family," James shrugged. He didn't expect such resistance.

"I think a dog is more hard work than we've got time for, James," Lily sighed, not wanting to be the buzz-kill, but knowing it wasn't the best idea. She looked around their new home in Godric's Hollow, the pictures on the wall, the appliances on the kitchen unit - she felt like life was full enough just the three of them.

"Okay, what about a cat?" James asked.

"You hate cats," Lily countered.

"True." James thought about it. "A rabbit?"

"Tuney had a rabbit when we were kids. It bit me," Lily replied with venom. James nodded.

"A gerbil?"

"If you think I'm inviting vermin into my house, you've got another thing coming."

"A goldfish?"

Lily said nothing. Fish were no hassle, she supposed. And they didn't live long.

"Fine, a goldfish," she reluctantly agreed.

"Can we call it Whiskers?"

"James… goldfish don't have whiskers," she told him slowly.

"Exactly!" he grinned. Lily shook her head and resisted a laugh. Some things never changed. She was glad James was one of them.


	9. HermioneRegulus: Healing

**Written for:**  
 **Gringotts Prompt Bank:** Regulus/Hermione (BONUS), "Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet." - Alain de Botton, "Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow." - Helen Keller (BONUS), "We can be happy in the future or we can be angry about the past." - Maleficent, Once Upon a Time, Optimistic *NEW*  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Phillipus Von Hohenheim - Write about a character who goes on to become a Healer.  
 **September Event -** Hermione Granger  
 **Writing Bingo:** lingerie  
 **Words:** 671

* * *

 **Healing**

I learned from Regulus that most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet. I learned that because he was broken, bent, twist out of shape by things blown out of proportion. He came into my life because I listened - because when he said he didn't want to be that man anymore, I gave him a chance. He spoke quietly, at first, in jagged sentences that leaped off precipices before climbing back up. After a while, he learnt to speak calmly. It was a voice that lilted over hills, lowered itself to the crashing waves below with a confidence that it would bring itself back up. I fell in love with his words - even the ones I didn't like.

He asked me how I did it. How I fought - and lost - and carried on, as if there was some great secret the rest of the world knew that we'd kept from him his whole life. I told him I didn't know. I carried on because there wasn't another choice - not to me. "Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow," I reminded him. "All I've ever known is the darkness," he replied.

When I first baked apple turnovers, I thought it would be a nice treat. He broke down in tears. His mother had made them, every time, to cheer the family up after a particularly harsh punishment. They'd become a symbol of misery, of a childhood he wished to forget, a peace offering that never brought peace.

I took a broken man and learned to call him my own. I only wanted to make him better. I told myself it was good - positive - that he cried more, at first. It was healing. It turned out healing was much more complex than I'd ever imagined. It involved laughter as much as tears. It involved days of anger and broken glass. Healing meant sitting in an empty room, jumping at knocks on the door, alone with his own thoughts. The words 'I love you' and 'I hate you' somehow became synonymous with each other when I realised they both meant 'I need you'.

I took an optimistic approach, convincing myself every relapse was positive, it meant something, it would get us where we wanted to go. I told him, "We can be happy in the future or we can be angry about the past."

His reply was simple, and it told me I'd got it wrong once again. "In the deepest parts of myself, I'll always be both."

I remember the one time I tried to impress him, to give him a gift of sorts, by wearing lingerie to bed in the hopes he'd want me more than he ever had before. He smiled, placed his arms around my waist and kissed my forehead, before leaning in to tell me he preferred my pyjamas. That's why I'm still here, I suppose, beside him. Every time I think I've got him figured out, he surprises me.

Yesterday, I was more surprised than I've ever been.

"I'm going to train to be a Healer," he told me, nonchalantly over the paper at breakfast.

"Why?" I asked, and he looked at me with that little half-smile of his.

"Because you took a broken man and put the pieces back together. You healed me, Hermione. You took the parts of me that were so wholly my mother's and you showed me they could be mine, if I wanted them, or I could get rid of them. I want to help others like you helped me, do something positive with the time I have left. I spent too long destroying lives, tearing people around, causing pain, and bloodshed, and hate. I want to fix it. It's the only way I know how."

As tears formed in my eyes, I realised then that I had done enough. The cracks would always be there, of course, but they would let the sunlight in now.


	10. SiriusMarlene: Valjean

Written for Hogwarts Writing Club, Round 1. Prompt was: Cultured.  
Wordcount: 130

* * *

 **Valjean**

"It's only the theatre! I thought you were cultured?" Marlene asked with a sly grin, turning to face me as she walked down the city street.

"Depends what kind of culture you mean," I replied, smiling back, reaching out for her hand. "Pureblood culture I was raised in. Muggle sub-cultures I choose. But high culture? Not my cup of tea."

She took my hand willingly and laughed. Maybe I'd bought too much wine. But then, she was still making me go, so perhaps it hadn't been enough.

"You'll have fun!"

"What are we seeing?" I asked, still surprised she'd even managed to keep a secret.

" _Les Misérables_!" Her French accent was terrible; I had to shake my head. "You remind me of Valjean."

All of a sudden, I was intrigued.


	11. LorcanJames: Falling Asleep

**Written for:**  
 **February Event at Hogwarts:** (lyric) "I count your eyelashes secretly. With every one, I whisper 'I love you'." - REM, (word) affection/affectionate.  
 **200 Characters In 200 Days:** Lorcan Scamander  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 576\. Whispers In The Wind  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Club:** Ignotus Perverell - Write about the Cloak of Invisibility  
 **Writing Bingo:** James S Potter/Lorcan Scamander  
 **Valentine-Making Station:** Indigo Ribbon - Write something that takes place after dark.  
397 words.

* * *

 **Falling Asleep**

The Cloak of Invisibility lay crumpled in a shimmering pile on the floor, forgotten now its job was done. The space beneath its protection was barely enough for two seventeen year old boys, but that hardly bothered them. They were here, in the tallest tower of the castle that was no longer in use, beneath the more public turrets of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and the Astronomy Tower.

They lay wrapped in a thin blanket, arms around each other as sleep began to claim them, affection written in every soft caress. The wind tunnelled through the open windows, but the couple didn't mind the cold.

Lorcan felt James' eyes on his face even as sleep began to claim him, and didn't mind all that much. He knew that James' eyes held no judgement, and allowed himself to relax, give in completely to the serenity claiming him.

James was thinking of the future. It struck him how infinite it was, and how many of those futures didn't involve him and Lorcan together, forever, like they'd been dreaming of. As he watched Lorcan fall asleep, he wondered how many more chances he'd have to do it again - a whole lifetime, or could he count them on one hand?

The uncertainty had a hopeless sort of beauty to it. He considered that, even if there wasn't to be another chance, he had tonight. Looking at Lorcan, at the infinite detail in his lovers face, he didn't want to forget a single thing about it. He began to count Lorcan's eyelashes, which seemed both silly and genius to James himself. If he knew how many eyelashes Lorcan had tonight, he'd always know something special about Lorcan no one else knew; he'd always be able to say he knew Lorcan better than he knew himself.

 _One._

"I love you," James whispered, wondering if somewhere in Lorcan's subconscious, he'd hear the message and feel safe.

 _Two._

"I love you." His whispers on the wind were like secrets, for only them to know.

 _Three_.

"I love you." His words grew stronger as he continued, as if he was more and more certain of his conviction with each repetition.

Somewhere around thirty-seven, sleep claimed James, too, but he slept with a smile, as if he'd decided at some point that he always had a reason to smile now, even when he wasn't conscious enough to know it.


	12. ArthurMolly: The Tie

**Written for:**  
 **February Event at Hogwarts:** (plot/action) M: having a tie fastened for you, and (emotion/feeling) comforted.  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Molly Weasley  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 130\. Secure  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Club:** Molly Weasley - Write about Molly Weasley  
 **Valentine Making Station:** Orange Ribbon - Write about the Weasleys  
 **Words:** 487

* * *

 **The Tie**

Arthur stood staring at the bathroom mirror, fumbling with his tie. His fingers were shaking as he tried to work too quickly, knowing he didn't want to be late. "Oh, Merlin," he muttered, when he looked at the mess he'd made. The knot was much too small, and sat way below the second button on his shirt. The thinner end of his tie hung much longer than the front section, which stopped somewhere around his belly button. He pulled at the knot, untying it, and started all over again from scratch.

The bedroom door opened out onto the corridor and Molly stepped out, decked out in her finest black robes. She looked at her husband with a sympathetic smile and entered the bathroom. Wordlessly, she took a gentle hold of his hands and pulled them down to his sides before reaching for the tie. She looped it around effortlessly, creating a perfect, secure knot in a matter of seconds before straightening out his collar. Arthur sighed, looking at his wife with a small smile.

"Thank you," he said, comforted by the little help she'd given him.

"Are you ready to go?" Molly asked.

Arthur nodded, but responded, "No."

"Oh, Arthur," Molly breathed, her eyes turning down in concern at her husband's anxiety.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready. How are you supposed to say goodbye to your mother?" he asked, feeling utterly helpless.

"You're not saying goodbye," Molly told him with a smile, wrapping her arms around him in a loose embrace. "Your mother will never leave you. She loved you too much to do that, and you loved her too much to ever forget. She was a wonderful woman; I remember her well. She's still a wonderful woman. You're not saying goodbye, because you can see her whenever you want. She's in here," Molly finished, stroking her husband's forehead. Arthur nodded at her words, knowing there was truth in them.

"But there are still things I'll never get to experience again; there are still conversations left I'll never have," Arthur argued.

"Don't think of what you no longer have. Think of what you already have. The books you read as a child on her lap; the love she showed when you told her you were marrying me; the way she'd spend hours trying to get Bill to sleep when everyone else had given up on trying to stop his screaming. You have memories of her to fill a lifetime. Be grateful for those, and that she lived a life full of love and happiness before slipping gently away into the night. Today isn't about being upset, and grieving. It's about remembering, honouring a woman, sharing our hearts with all those she touched."

Arthur nodded, looking at his wife in all her wisdom.

"I'm very glad I married you, you know?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

Molly only laughed and led him downstairs.


	13. DominiqueLysander: Dove

**Written for:  
February Event at Hogwarts:** Getting a tattoo with/of/for your S.O. and (word) devotion.  
 **If You Dare:** 127\. Several Deep Breaths.  
 **Gringotts:** "It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like, so long as somebody loves you." - Roald Dahl, The Witches.  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards:** Felix Suummerbee - Someone is exceptionally happy in your story.  
 **Words:** 309

* * *

 **Dove**

Dominique took several deep breaths as she closed her eyes, pretending she couldn't hear the gentle hum of the machine. Lysander took her hand in his, squeezing it softly. He was there. She was okay.

It had been Dominique's idea, of course. It went that way a lot. She'd have brilliant ideas with a world of possibilities, but she wouldn't think through the realities of them until they were right in front of her.

She'd chosen a dove in flight; the perfect embodiment of both their names. He'd be in the chair as soon as she was done, but for now, she hadn't even begun.

When the needle first touched her skin, the pain made her wince, but as the artist worked, it soon died down to a constant manageable sensation. Her arm numbed and she opened her eyes again.

Lysander was looking at her with a small smile, devotion shining in his eyes. She looked at him and couldn't help but think he was beautiful. He'd tell her off if she said it aloud, but it didn't make it any less true. He wasn't handsome in the traditional way. He was too skinny, his lips too thin, his skin too pale. Dominique had inherited her father's genes rather than the Veela in her mother, too.

She remembered something, a line she thought she might have read in a book once. "It doesn't matter who you are or what you look like, so long as somebody loves you," she recited, smiling.

Lysander smiled back and leaned in to kiss her.

Dominique thought about what she was doing. She was voluntarily putting herself through a lot of pain for something her parents didn't even know about and wouldn't approve of, spending the last of her savings. She couldn't help but laugh at herself.

She didn't think she'd ever been happier.


	14. IslaBob: A Winter Walk

**Written for:**  
 **Writing Club: 100 Prompts in one story:** Content, Fine, Gift, Mess, Past, Period, Possibility, Price, Promise, Proposal, Purpose, Quarter, Reason, Reputation, Secret, Shame, Sign, Strength, Yesterday, Representative, Wizard, Figure, Self, Partner, Bench, Box, Building, Earth, Engine, Fire, Fuel, Glove, Gold, Hat, House, Lip, Novel, Place, Rope, Shirt, Shoulder, Sky, Smoke, Snow, Train, Track, Tear, Voice, Appear, Choose, Board, Bend, Bring, Convince, Die, Lost, Let, Laugh, Kiss, Find, Escape, Marry, Pause, Propose, Reach, Recover, Release, Remain, Resist, Rest, Share, Risk, Ring, Smile, Spend, Spite, Step, Start, Inside, Over, Comfortable, Either, Former, Glad, Happy, Little, Main, Many, New, Nice, One, Only, Really, Ready, Quiet, Proud, Private, Regular, Secure, Sensitive  
 **February Event at Hogwarts:** (lyric) "I'll drown my beliefs to have your babies." - REM and (object) engagement/promise/wedding ring.  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Isla Black  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 583\. Spoken Gifts  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Isla Black – Write about Isla marrying Bob and being disowned for it.  
 **Writing Bingo:** Dragons  
 **Valentine-Making Station:** Ask Me Conversation Heart Candy – Write about a proposal.  
 **School of Prompts:** Grade 4 Assignment 2 - At least 300 words for the genre 'family'.  
 **Words:** 2,081

* * *

 **A Winter Walk**

Isla tugged at her golden gloves, taking them off her hands. She raised a handkerchief to her lips to remove her lipstick. Taking the pins out of her hair, she let the fine black locks fall softly over her right shoulder. The party was over. Isla could be herself.

She was proud of her heritage, of course. She was content with being a Black. She knew her place in the world with that name at her back. She had a purpose; she had a reputation to uphold. Life made sense.

But still she felt limited. She was only really comfortable when she was alone. In public, she was a representative of her family. She had rules to obey; impulses to resist; risks to avoid. At the parties her mother loved to send her to, voices clambered over each other to be heard, false laughter was lost in the music of the string quartet. Isla often sat quietly by the wall, finding it all a little bit too much.

The mornings after parties were what Isla preferred. When the rest of her family was still resting, Isla woke early and got herself ready.

It was January, and the night had been cold. Freshly fallen snow covered the earth in a blanket of white, as if the ground was trying to hide some secret. Perhaps it was a sign, Isla thought, that today things would begin anew. She stepped outside to begin her walk and looked up at the sky, at the robins and larks dancing on the gentle breeze, and smiled. The birds always appeared so free, so happy, that Isla liked to imagine she was one of them.

In the little forest, Isla couldn't even see the house she lived in. She could almost convince herself that she'd moved out of one world and into another, where the house she'd grown up in and the politics of her family's past didn't even exist anymore. She sat down on the bench crudely cut from an old tree stump, and breathed in a deep sigh. She looked around her at the forest, so devoid of colour in the damp snow, all browns and whites. It was then that she spotted the figure.

In spite of all reason, Isla was curious. She should have been nervous, she knew. She should have been planning her escape, casting charms to ensure she wasn't seen. Instead, she paused. Remaining exactly where she was, she waited for the figure to move closer. It was highly probable that this person was a muggle, and Isla had never really spoken to one before.

"Good morning," the man said when he drew close.

"Good morning," Isla replied with a smile. He was wearing a loose shirt that looked as though it was probably white once; brown trousers that had been fixed up in at least three different places; a matching shoddy jacket; a green woollen scarf and a hat - Isla thought she remembered it being called a flat cap. He made quite an impression, and Isla began to doubt her decision to stay out. Perhaps she should have gone back inside.

But then she looked at his face. Kind blue eyes shined up at her. There was no tension in his face; nothing to suggest mistrust or dislike. His thin cheeks and prominent jawline were softened by a light dusting of mouse-brown stubble. Life may not have been kind to him, but his face suggested he was kind and nice to others.

"What brings a fine lady like you to this neck of the woods?" he asked, curious.

"It's my favourite place. My mother prefers it if I remain in the grounds, but when I'm able to make the journey, you'll find me here," Isla replied. She could be as honest as she wanted, she thought. She'd never see this man again.

"I'm a regular here," the man replied. "I come collecting fire wood every day. Fuel for the stove."

"For your wife?" Isla enquired.

The man held up his hand with a laugh. Isla saw there was no ring. "No, for my mother. No woman would be stupid enough to take me," he joked.

Isla smiled, all the hate and derision she'd been taught to harbour towards muggles like him lost in his easy manner and charisma. When he tipped his hat and wished her farewell, Isla told him she hoped she'd see him again.

"Well, in that case, my name's Bob. Bob Hitchens," he told her.

"I'm glad I met you, then, Bob. My name is Isla Black," she replied.

She made an effort to see him as often as she could after that first day. She felt like a character out of one of the novels she loved to read, maybe something by Jane Austen. She knew there was a very real possibility that she'd be caught, but she thought the price was worth the peace he brought her. In this private little forest, the world outside couldn't reach her. She felt safe; she felt secure.

Bob told her he was a mess. He told her he had no skills, no real income and no future. Isla didn't realise it was a warning. She didn't know that she was falling in love.

It was three months after they'd first met when they were sitting together under a small umbrella, listening to the April shower as it fell on the fresh leaves of the canopy above.

"Why do you keep coming back?" he asked her, looking at her with such sincerity she had to look away.

"Because I like to spend time with you," she admitted. "Because I'm happy here, in a way that I'm not at home. It's not a home for me, that big house. It's just a building with many rooms for living ghosts to drift through until they die."

"I can't give you what you need. I have no rich carpets to lay at your feet. I only have dreams and dust," he replied.

"I don't need anything. I don't even want anything. I've had so many things all of my life, and I've never truly been happy. I'm happy here, with you, talking. That's all I need. Every day, I know I can choose. I can either stay indoors with all the fineries of life there, or I can come out to a cold, damp, dreary wood to share an hour or so with you." Tears began to collect in Isla's grey eyes as she spoke. Bob moved from the bench, coming around to kneel on the sodden earth at her feet. He looked up at her, taking her cheek in his wet hand.

"I hope…" he began, sounding nervous. "I hope that what you've said is true. I'm glad you feel that way. Because… because I think I love you," he finished.

Isla smiled, a large, genuine smile, like it didn't matter that her dress was soaked through to the skin. "I love you too," she told him. He leaned in slowly, hesitantly, to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

"I hope you don't live to regret it. I hope you never look back and see this as a mistake.

"I will never regret it. I can promise you that. Already, today is a brighter day than yesterday. You fill my world with colour. You give me strength. You're my release."

The pair sat smiling at each other, basking in the warmth of their happiness.

"What of your family?" Bob asked.

Isla's smile fell from her face as she looked away. "There are things you don't know, can't understand. I can't tell you just yet. But we'll have to move away from here. They'll be ashamed of me. I'd never see them again," she told him.

"Isla, they're your family. I can't ask you to do that," he protested, gentle.

"You're not. I'm making the decision for myself," she told him firmly. "When the breeze attempts to sway an old bamboo stalk, it snaps, but the young ones bend, forge their own paths up to the sun. This is my path."

"Well, if that's the case," he began, moving one soaking leg so he was balanced on one knee. "I promise I'll propose properly when I have a ring, but, for the time being, Isla Black, I love you. I want to marry you, and spend the rest of my life by your side. Would you do this humble man the honour of agreeing to become his wife?"

Isla smiled. His words reached her ears like gifts. "Yes," she answered. "I thought you'd never ask." She paused for a moment in contemplation before drawing her wand.

"What's that?" Bob asked, confused.

"There are laws against what I'm about to do, but you need to know. I need you to understand everything. All I ask is that you keep your mind open. Please don't be afraid."

Bob watched as she pointed her wand at her left hand and muttered an incantation. A jet of magical silver light left her wand, wrapping itself around her ring finger and settling in place. A perfect engagement ring now sat in its rightful place, complete with a single diamond.

Bob's face turned pale as he watched, completely transfixed.

"Was that magic?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes," Isla confirmed. "My whole family have it. We've all been trained in its ways. My family believe it makes them better than non-magical folk. They believe they should be the benefactors of this world, that their magic sets them above the rest.

"I don't share that view. I believe magic is a gift, and as a gift, it should be treated with respect. The main purpose of magic, in my belief, is that it's used for good. It should be used to help everyone equally, to cure ills and fix homes. To eradicate poverty and disease. We have the knowledge, just not the motivation."

"I was raised to believe that I, too, was above non-magical folk. My parents taught me that as they taught me to read and write. I'll drown those beliefs to have your babies. I'll tie a rope around their necks and watch them hang."

Isla knew this was a sensitive topic, and she should tread softly, and be gentle on Bob, but she couldn't help the passion that roused her spirit at the thought of her family's false beliefs.

Bob was silent for a while, taking everything in. "Perhaps it's a little soon to be talking about having children," he eventually said.

Isla considered him for a second before laughter took over her. Bob joined in, laughing at the absurdity of his statement after all she'd just said.

"Well, I still want you, if you'll still have me," he noted when their laughter had died down. Isla nodded, and leaned forward to kiss him again.

Isla didn't tell her family about the proposal. She didn't tell them she was in love. She was scared of the consequences she'd face if they knew, scared her father would do something that she wouldn't be able to recover from. The men of the Black family were sleepy lions in the day time, when they thought things were fine, but the dragons in them could be roused at a moment's notice, and the dragons in them were only ever out for blood.

Instead, the young lovers, the partners in crime, made a plan. Isla would slowly pack her things - only the things she wished to take - over the next couple of weeks, so that they wouldn't notice. The morning after the next party she'd go out for her walk as usual, at quarter past six in the morning. At the forest, she'd Apparate them both to a spot near the train station. They'd board the train bound for Scotland and begin afresh. Their first stop would be a chapel in Gretna Green, where the priest had already agreed to marry them. Isla would leave her former life behind, the period of secrecy and deceit long over.

She met him in her most plain dress, covered by a brown overcoat, all her belongings shrunken into a small box in her hands. They reached the station just as the steam engine they wanted to catch was approaching along the tracks.

They took their seats, and Isla took Bob's hand in hers with a smile. He wasn't a wizard, but he'd cast a spell over her heart she never wanted to break.


	15. LysanderScorpius: The First Thing

**Written for:**  
 **February Event at Hogwarts:** (dialogue) "No matter what has happened. No matter what you've done. No matter what you will do. I will always love you. I swear it." and (emotion/feeling) elated  
 **Gringotts Prompt Bank:** (emotions/feelings) nervous, panic, terrified, anxious, worried, incapable, useless. (colours) bitter lemon, carrot orange, violet, sienna, saffron, cherry blossom pink. (said words) announced, croaked, murmured (prepositions) across, beneath. (family and friends vocabulary) partner. (weather prompts) smoke, rain.  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Lysander Scamander  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 394\. Intense  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Erkling - Write about an unsettling childhood trauma or experience.  
 **Words:** 1593

* * *

 **The First Thing He Noticed**

Flames. Heat. Smoke. Choke. Burn. Bubble. Die.

Scorpius is nine years old when the terrible clatter of newly smashed glass wakes him in terror. He lies in bed, heart thudding against his ribcage, eyes wide open.

The first thing he notices is the smell. It smells like smoke, but like no smoke he's ever smelled before. There's more than wood tending the flames.

The second thing he notices is the sweat dripping off his forehead. It's everywhere, actually, coating his skin. It's hot. The air around him feels like a tropical summer, like the one he remembered in south India. But he's not in south India anymore. He's in Devon, in his own bedroom, and it's March.

That's when he notices the sound. A fierce crackling carried on a forceful breeze, like there's a storm raging downstairs, in his own living room. It's as loud as that time the rain came down all of a sudden when he was in the garden with his dad, and they ran to the shed for shelter. Scorpius listened to the patter of rain on the roof like a thousand tiny feet and watched the drip, drip, drip of a leak in the corner.

It takes him another moment to connect the dots between the three things, but when he does, he jumps out of bed like the fire's in his bedsheets, and there are mere seconds left before the whole room's engulfed.

He fumbles for his door in the dark, reaching for the handle, only to pull his hand back with a shrill scream as he touches it. It's no longer a door handle, it's a poker. He grabs his towel from the back of a chair and folds it up, hoping it's thick enough to last just a couple of seconds. He reaches for the handle again, the towel providing his only defence, and manages to open the door.

A wall of intense heat hits him and he's forced to stagger back, his eyes closed, before he can proceed.

When it calms down a little, Scorpius sees what he's faced with. The fire isn't downstairs. In fact, the downstairs is relatively unharmed. The fire's on the landing, engulfing the library door, blocking his way to the bathroom, surrounding his parents' bedroom. He hasn't got time to think about them.

The flames are licking at the stairs, reaching out for the banister. Scorpius doesn't think. He runs. If he waited a second longer, he'd be trapped for certain, and he'd be dead.

He runs all the way to the front door, trying not to feel anything until he knows it's safe to stop. The key's where it usually is, on the hook next to the coats. Scorpius can just about reach it if he stands on his tip toes and stretches as far as he can stretch. He fumbles with the lock, feeling the heat of the flames on his back, hearing them roar at their prey.

Once outside, he runs again. He wants to run so far that he can't even see the house anymore; can't hear the sounds of what he's sure must be some kind of nightmare. He runs down the garden path and through the dainty little pastel blue gate. He runs across the road, not remembering to check for cars. He jumps the fence at the other side of the road and runs into the forest. Eventually, he stops and turns back around to look. There's just flashes of bitter lemon yellow and carrot orange dancing though the silhouettes of the trees. It's almost beautiful.

He suddenly becomes aware of the pain of the soles of his feet, and finds they don't want to hold him up anymore. He falls forward, onto his hands and knees, lifting his burning, stinging, pulsating feet into the air. The right side of his leg, particularly his calf, is also screaming at him. He doesn't want to look. He doesn't want to know. The pain sends sobs to wrack through his frame, and his eyes close. He doesn't know anything but the cold, damp earth pressing against his hands and knees, and pain.

Soon, there's only pain.

As if he's not suffered enough; as if Scorpius wasn't in enough pain, fate dealt him another hand. Something crashed into his side, knocking him over onto his right leg in an agonising burst of white light. There was more pain, in his side. Puncture wounds, pinpricks that don't quite feel real. He doesn't understand. He tries to focus on the feeling, to understand it, but his mind is going hazy around the edges. It's like he's trying to fight sleep off late at night, but he's losing. Ultimately, he has no choice but to give in.

* * *

Lysander was worried. Scorpius was late home from work, and sunset was minutes away. He was pacing the living room, eyes darting between the clock and the window. The street outside was quiet. There wasn't a soul in sight.

The sky was glorious. Violet, sienna, saffron and cherry blossom pink all danced in the sky together in pastel shades between pale, wispy clouds. It was beautiful, and it made Lysander feel sick. He didn't know what to do. There was no use in owling him. If he was trying to make it home on time, it would only hold him up. He couldn't go out looking for him because he didn't know where he was. Scorpius had said he'd be in the field today, but he didn't mention what field that was.

Lysander couldn't take the silence any longer. He ran a hand through the blond curls that fell about his shoulders and turned, heading for the door.

Outside, on the flagstones that lead from their front door to the street, Lysander looked up to the sky. That's when he spotted it. The pale impression of the moon shining through the twilight, hanging low in the sky. As the sun sunk lower, the impression only got brighter. If Scorpius was outside, it was already too late. If he wasn't, they didn't have the time to get him downstairs, to lock the shackles, to bar the door.

Scorpius wasn't coming home.

That night, Lysander didn't sleep. He didn't even try to. He spent most of the night sat on the edge of his seat, leaning forward over his legs, his back straight and tense. His mind raced through images, flashes of scenes, everything Scorpius could be doing right now. Everything he was afraid of. He waited, and waited, and watched the moon's progress across the night's sky. That night, the moon wasn't a beautiful reflective orb keeping watch over travellers in the dark. That night, the moon was a monster; the moon was the enemy; Lysander hated the moon.

The sunrise was cold, and brought with it far too much hope for Lysander. He knew that the odds were stacked against any notion that the night had been passed happily by all. It didn't stop him from wishing.

A key was placed into the lock at half past six, and the door was shoved unceremoniously open with a grunt. Lysander raced through to the hallway to take a look at his lover, to see the physical results of the horrors of the night.

The first thing he saw was blood. It had soaked into his torn, dirty pale blue shirt, dried on his skin, congealed in his hair. Scorpius was more red than any other colour.

There were scratches and marks all over his frame, bruises were coming through already. Scorpius just stood there, without moving, blue eyes meeting brown. One of them was in shock. One of them was in pain.

Lysander began to move forward, slowly at first, as if hesitant. With every step he became more sure of himself and by the time he reached Scorpius, there was no hesitation. He wrapped his arms around his lover and leant forward, placing a gentle kiss on those bruised and bloody lips.

"No matter what has happened. No matter what you've done. No matter what you will do. I will always love you. I swear it," Lysander announced, staring at Scorpius with all the sincerity he'd ever felt.

Scorpius began to say thank you, but half way through the words stuck in his mouth and he choked. In the next moment, a sob had escaped his throat and tears were falling freely as his knees gave way beneath him and he fell to the ground.

Lysander fell with him, wrapping his arms around Scorpius tighter and stroking his hair, holding him. Scorpius reached his own arms up to grab fistfuls of Lysander's shirt as he broke down.

They stayed there for what felt like an eternity, until Scoprius's sobs stopped and his breathing evened out.

"I don't… I don't know what I've done. I don't remember," Scorpius croaked.

"It doesn't matter," Lysander soothed. "Let's get you in the shower."

Lysander began to stand, pulling Scorpius gently behind him.

"We need to throw those clothes away and get you cleaned up. I can't imagine how tired you're feeling. I'll make you some food and then you can sleep," Lysander murmured, making plans for the day as he spoke them. Scorpius stopped walking, and Lysander turned around to face him immediately. He was more than surprised to see a smile gracing his face. "What?"

"I love you," Scorpius whispered. "I'm… I'm actually feeling happy right now. Elated, even. Before I made it home, I didn't think I'd ever feel happy again. But you… you just make everything okay."


	16. Hinny: She's The Man

**Written for:  
February Event at Hogwarts:** (title) She's The Man and (word) betrothed **  
If You Dare Challenge:** 961\. Superman's Dead **  
Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Emeric the Evil – write about any known canon or fanon owner of the Elder Wand  
 **Valentine-Making Station:** Honeybee Sticker – Write about a couple that loved through a war. **  
Gringotts Prompt Bank:** (family and friends vocab) wedding, (said words) begged, suggested **  
Words:** 663

* * *

 **She's The Man**

Ginny and Harry had been betrothed for nearly a year, and the wedding was planned for three months' time. Ginny was sat at the kitchen table with magazines, books and photographs strewn all around her as she nursed a coffee. It was late, gone nine o'clock at night.

She'd been up since half past five that morning, having arrived early for work at seven o'clock. She'd taken a portkey to watch an international Quidditch match near Bangkok. She'd spent the day writing her report of that game, Thailand versus the United States of America, and then there's been a meeting in the afternoon with all the senior content writers and editors. The Quidditch World Cup was about to begin, and the match schedule had just been released. They had seats confirmed in all the Commentator's Boxes, but they had to arrange who would go to each match, and which matches would get a full page spread, and all of the other nitty gritty details.

Ginny didn't get out of work until gone six, and she rushed home to cook a quick meal for her and Harry before rushing back out to a SPEW meeting – Hermione had carried on the initiative she began as a student and it was now a fully-fledged charity of which Ginny was proud to be a member.

It was half past eight by the time she got home again, and instead of relaxing with a glass of wine and a good book, she'd set to wedding planning.

Harry was sat at the table with her, but he felt useless. Ginny was so focused on the idea that the wedding would be perfect that she insisted on making all the final decisions herself, from the table cloths to the floral arrangements. Harry didn't mind at all. He knew that whatever Ginny chose, it would be wonderful. He was just worried about her, worried she was running herself to the ground.

"Ginny, maybe you should take a break," Harry gently suggested.

"I can't. The calligraphist needs the final decision on the place cards by the end of the week, and the guest list. The florist says if we want the Picasso lilies in the bridesmaid's bouquets and he button holes, she needs to be told before the end of the month so she can place an order, and the final invitations need sending out as soon as possible," Ginny rambled. Harry was completely stunned at the thought that anyone could keep that much information in the front of her mind.

"Let me help. You're doing too much. You'll make yourself ill. It's like you're trying to save the world or something, and you're running out of time," he begged. "Leave it to Superman."

"Superman's dead. We have to be our own heroes," came Ginny's quick response. "Harry, I know you're worried, but I make my own decisions. I know what I'm capable of, and believe me, I am capable. When I feel like things are getting on top of me, I'll let you know. But I'm thriving on being busy. I'm okay."

There was a thought niggling in the back of Harry's mind that still wanted to plead with her, that still thought she was doing too much. But Harry had heard her words, and he knew better than to speak his thoughts. She was right. She was capable. He'd seen it enough times to be certain of that fact. Instead of worrying about her, he tried to look at her with pride and love for all the things she was accomplishing simultaneously, for having the energy he knew he didn't even have.

"You're right," he told her. "I'm sorry. You do what you want to do. Let me know if you want help."

"Actually, there is one thing," Ginny replied with a smile. "For the place cards, do you prefer this one or this one?" she asked, holding up two samples.

"The one on the left."

"I thought so, too."


	17. CedricCho: Winter Ice-Cream

**Written for:  
** **February Event at Hogwarts:** (plot/action) going on a romantic date, and (object) cherubs.  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Cedric Diggory  
 **If You Dare Challenge:** 422\. Steady Pace  
 **Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Dexter Fortescue - Incorporate the location of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour  
 **Valentine-Making Challenge:** White Roses Sticker - Write an innocent (G rated) love scene.  
 **Gringotts Prompt Bank:** (said words) told. (prepositions) above  
 **Words:** 378

* * *

 **Winter Ice-Cream**

There was no snow outside, but the rain that had fallen the day before had frozen in its puddles, leaving dangerous ice between the old cobblestones of Diagon Alley. The streets were busy, packed full of witches and wizards, racing between the shops looking for the perfect present. The Leaky Cauldron was so full of patrons enjoying warm butterbeer, it was difficult to find a way through without knocking into at least three people. Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, on the other hand, was close to empty.

It was a crazy notion, Cedric's mother had told him, to even think about visiting an ice cream parlour in December. She was probably right, too, but that didn't stop Cedric.

There was a small, tasteful Christmas tree in the corner, with just fairy lights, tinsel, plain round baubles and a star at the top. In a little inglenook, there was a tasteful nativity scene, complete with angels and cherubs levitating in the air above the stable. In the display case built into the counter, the right hand side boasted seasonal flavours, such as Mince Pie with Brandy Butter, and Mulled Wine.

Cedric led Cho into the shop holding her hand, grateful for the magical warmth of the place. They took off hats, gloves, scarves and coats, hanging them on the hat stand by the door, before heading over to the counter. The owner of the Parlour, Florean Fortescue, met them with an eccentric sort of smile and an easy laugh as they choose their flavours, and it wasn't long before Cedric had paid and they were sat at a small table by the window.

They were on a date and it was still early days in their relationship. They'd been seeing each other for a couple of months, but they weren't officially a couple yet, as they were trying to take things at a steady pace. They sat there staring at each other with smiles as they ate, an awkward silence falling between them.

"Cho," Cedric began, the quiet dissipating. "Let me know if I'm being too forward, but… I like you. A lot. And, well, I'd like it if… if I was able to call you my girlfriend."

Cho smiled at his anxiety. "I'd like that to," she told him.


	18. RodolphusNarcissa: Danger Makes Screams

**Title:** Danger Makes You Scream  
 **Genre:** Romance/Drama  
 **Warnings:** Minor sexual situations  
 **Rating:** T  
 _Written for Samantha, HP Slash Luv, for winning the Months of the Year Competition I ran._  
Also written for the following challenges:  
 **Ultimate Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Rodolphus Lestrange - write about Rodolphus Lestrange  
 **If You Dare:** 781\. Oops I Did It Again  
 **Writing Bingo:** Theme - adultery  
 **200 Characters in 200 Days:** Rodolphus Lestrange  
 **Words:** 316

* * *

 **Danger Makes You Scream**

"My husband-"

"…is out."

"Draco-"

"…is with him."

"My sister-"

"…is with the Dark Lord."

"The House Elf-"

He silenced her with his lips this time, pressing them tightly against hers as his hand snaked up from her hip to her waist, finally touching the curves he'd been fantasising about all day.

She tried to let out a gasp of surprise and indignation, but as he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, it turned to a sigh as she relaxed in his arms, her muscles becoming more pliable of their own accord.

The gasp turned into his name, whispered with a breathy quality she'd forgotten herself capable of.

"Rodolphus."

He moved away from her lips as he left a trail of kisses along her jaw and down to the nape of her neck, wrapping his arms around her.

"We agreed that we'd had our last time," she whispered into his ear.

"And it was. The last time until the next time. The last time before today," he replied.

The longer his lips worked against her skin, the more uncertain her protestations became. They lost the hardness around the edges they'd had before he'd kissed her, becoming hazier around the edges, less clear and prominent.

"It's too dangerous."

Narcissa's mouth hung open in a silent moan while her eyes darted around wildly, as if afraid the walls themselves had eyes.

"You love the danger. It keeps you coming back. The danger makes you scream like you've never screamed for Lucius." A hand snaked up to grab at her breast through her dress, toying with her, teasing.

"Don't say his name," she told him. "I hate the sound of it on your lips." They both knew that wasn't the reason.

"What do you like the sound of on my lips?" he asked her. She felt his smile against her collarbone.

"My name."

"As you command, Narcissa."


	19. LuciusHermione: Of Helpless Wretches

**Title:** Of Helpless Wretches  
 **Genre:** Romance  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Rating: K+**  
 _Written for Samantha, HP Slash Luv, for winning the Months of the Year Competition I ran._  
Also written for the following challenges:  
 **Ultimate Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge:** Lucius Malfoy - write about Lucius Malfoy  
 **If You Dare:** 694\. The Future Is What We Make Of It  
 **Writing Bingo:** Genre: Romance  
 **Words:** 458

* * *

 **Of Helpless Wretches**

"You're asking me if I want to invite another snivelling, whining, helpless wretch into my home?" Lucius asked her, curling his lip in disgust as he turned to face her.

Hermione sighed, barely looking up at where he stood as she gently placed her closed book on the coffee table.

"Yes, I am, dear." Her voice was calm and levelled, like a gentle breeze.

"Why in Merlin's name would I want to do that?" He folded his arms across his chest. It was a controlled movement, one orchestrated in such a way as to perfectly portray his disapproval at the thought.

"Because we want a future, don't we? What else did you put a ring on my finger for if not for that? And what better way to solidify it? If you have any suggestions, I'm all ears."

Lucius frowned and let out a few strange sounds akin to air attempting to escape a sealed rubber tube. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered if he'd make the same noises were she to wrap her hands tightly around his neck. She stopped herself before she took off down this train of thought by breathing in deeply and willing herself to remain calm.

"Why does our future have to be any different from our present? Why would we wish to change what is already working perfectly well?" he eventually asked.

Hermione stood and walked over to her fiancé, standing in front of him and placing her hands on his arms. She looked up at him with big eyes, hoping she looked at least somewhat like a puppy on those posters for animal charities they'd seen around Muggle London so he'd take pity on her.

"You already have a son, Lucius. I know that. I respect that. You love him, too, even if you don't like to say it out loud. What you have with Draco—that's what I want. I want a baby, Lucius. I know you disapprove of change as a rule, but think about it, please."

Lucius sighed, unfolding his arms and looking at her with sympathy.

"It's a lot to ask me to agree on right away," he admitted.

"I know. I don't expect you to jump right in. We need to think about it and discuss it. But please don't forget how you felt the first time you saw Draco, and his eyes met yours. The first time he smiled. Walked. Talked. Tell me you wouldn't love to experience all of that all over again."

She chanced a smile, hoping to soften him further.

"I'll think about it," he conceded, smiling with her. "Although, speaking of jumping right in, there is something we could jump right into upstairs."

He leaned in to kiss her and Hermione smiled.


End file.
